Bomber Witches: Backgrounds
by RobertaMorgan
Summary: This section is for the background stories of the Bomber Witches, detailing events in their lives prior to those in the main stories.
1. Chapter 1: Day of Infamy

**Day of Infamy**

December 6th, 1941

It was another beautiful sunset at Pearl Harbor, the jewel of the Hawaiian Islands. The sun was slowly dipping below the Pacific Ocean, as a young strawberry blonde girl clad in a maroon bikini was strolling along the beach. Her grey-blue eyes gazed across the sparkling water, and the foamy crests as they crashed into the sand bars. Captain Samantha Laddon was a PBY-5a pilot, only 15 years old when she completed basic combat flight training in the US Navy. As something of a prodigy, she was highly regarded among the army air force and navy pilots alike. Next to her on the beach was a girl with short, wavy brunette hair, which was tied up in a ponytail similar to Samantha's, although much shorter. She wore a white and blue striped bikini, and her dark silver eyes looked like steel radial saws, ready to cut through anything. Her name was Alexis Laddon, Samantha's sister. Unlike her older sister, Alexis never embraced the skills of a pilot, and found her place in the steelworks and engineering industry, which landed her a position in the navy shipyards at Pearl.

"I love this place. It's so… peaceful." Samantha said wistfully.

"It's a little too quiet and gleeful for my tastes. It's hard to believe this is actually a military installation, when it's sitting on an island paradise." Alexis scoffed.

"Well, it's not like we're at war. Sure, we do practice exercises and gunnery training, but hopefully we'll never have to fire our guns in anger. 'A great leader finds a way to not get involved in war.'" Samantha admonished her younger sister.

Alexis laughed at this. "I hear Churchill and Stalin are ringing Roosevelt's phone off the hook in D.C., asking him how long we're going to pretend there isn't a war going on with the Neuroi."

"Even if Hades himself crawled out of the Pacific to attack, the Air Forces will give him a licking." Samantha smirked.

"That's my line. Everyone knows the battleship is the capital defensive mechanism against any enemy in the ocean." Alexis challenged.

"Speaking of, I heard you finally got assigned to a ship?" Samantha inquired.

"Yeah, I'm tired of hanging around the drydocks all day, it gets boring seeing the same stuff everywhere. Whatever happened to 'Join the Navy, see the world?'" Alexis said scornfully. "I got assigned to a Pennsylvania class, the USS Oklahoma. She was on a training exercise in a fog bank, when she mistakenly crossed in front of the USS Arizona, and took a chunk out of her bow. The ships out of drydock, and we moved her to Battleship Row where we'll finish tuning the boiler and propeller shafts. I'd like to have a good smack down with the captain responsible for the damage, cause he's not the one that has to fix that."

"Oh Alexis… Don't you ever change." Samantha laughed, ruffling her sister's hair. Alexis protested, and chased Samantha down the beach.

By the time they had dressed and returned to the barracks, it was already dark. As Samantha climbed into her bunk, she pulled out a white lily that Alexis had given on her graduation from flight school, and set it on the nightstand. Next to that, she set the locket that hung around her neck, containing a monochrome photo of the two sisters together. Samantha smiled, and rolled over as her head filled with sleep.

December 7th, 1941

Samantha woke up, put on her pilot's fatigues, and started off for the mess hall to get breakfast. On the way, she passed Alexis, who was wearing her coveralls and welding helmet as she headed for the dock. She didn't seem very happy, so Samantha waved her down and came alongside.

"Morning lil' Lex. Sleep well?" Samantha smiled.

"Not a wink. I had this horrible dream last night, and it all seemed so real…" Alexis groaned sleepily, and pouted. "It was loud, almost like we were under fire… I kept reaching for the sky and all I could feel was cold steel."

"Oh, I'm sure you just ate too much last night. Just an average nightmare, that's all." Samantha laughed.

"You don't get it, do you? I only have bad dreams when I know that something's about to happen. Sometimes I wish you'd just try to believe me." Alexis huffed, and jogged down to the pier.

Samantha was dismayed, it wasn't usual for her sister to get so upset about something like that. Maybe there was some truth to her words, after all. Samantha proceeded to get breakfast, and then got on the bus for the floatplane base. Her PBY-5a bomber units were stored in a special ready rack, to be deployed at a moment's notice into the water if needed. Being floatplane based, she could take off from the water, offering her more runway space than any pilot could ask for. The view from the Kaneohe Air Base was spectacular, being several miles north east of the harbor.

Soon Samantha had launched for her daily patrol, a sweep around the harbor perimeter using hydro acoustic sonar instruments. She was met mid-flight by another bomber witch who was on training at Pearl. A slender and tan girl with long black hair, and brown leather clothing like native Alaskan dress.

"Technical Sergeant Ila Yakone, callsign 'Attu Warrior,' reporting for duty." The girl said with a smile, as her fluffy polar bear familiar stuck out from her hair.

Her bomber units were a royal dark blue on the bottom, and sky blue on the topside. The PV-2 'Harpoon' units were developed as a medium bomber capable of maritime patrol in the Aleutian Islands, where temperatures were below freezing, and constant vigilance was necessary. The 'Harpoon' could be equipped with a variety of payloads, ranging from 5-inch rockets, 325lb depth charges and 500lb bombs, to 1005kg torpedoes and life rafts. Ila was equipped with a .50 caliber machine gun, 4 x 325lb depth charges, and 2 x 500lb bombs.

"Tech Sgt. Yakone, good to see you. How's training at Kaneohe?" Samantha asked.

"Not so bad, but I really want to complete my weapons training and return to Attu. I'm far more used to the frigid weather." Ila said, fanning herself with her hand.

"I can understand that. Meanwhile, these daily patrols are really getting on me. There's no way that any submarine could just pass through the ASW net." Samantha laughed.

"I wouldn't be so sure…" Ila said, her tone worrisome. "I'm picking something up with my instruments, it's very faint, but it looks like an underwater contact."

Samantha's smile faded, as a distinct 'ping' sound rang through her headset. "It could just be a fishing boat, or maybe a whale. The destroyer USS Ward is nearby on patrol, too."

"Samantha, how long are you going to keep up that arrogant façade?" Ila scolded. "Only a fool would be so overconfident, and overlook the possibility of an attack. A smart enemy will hit you where you think you are safe."

As they got closer, Samantha made a slow pass over the contact, and spotted a small periscope sticking out of the water. It wasn't US Navy, and did not correspond with any scheduled arrival. "Enemy submarine spotted!" She cried out, giving the bearing to Ila.

"Roger that. Of all the times to be right…" Ila muttered, preparing a depth charge. "We need to sink this thing, and contact USS Ward!"

The explosive Torpex-filled barrel plopped into the water, and sank a couple feet before exploding violently. There was a high-pitched screeching, as it damaged the submarine's ballast tanks and forced an emergency surface. The red and black profile of a Neuroi submarine floated to the surface, as it tried to regenerate the damaged bow of the ship.

"Enemy submarine surfaced, it appears to have been damaged!" Samantha called out. "Lining up for a torpedo run!"

Samantha flew perpendicular to the submarine, gently adjusting her throttle and altitude to allow for clean torpedo drop while the USS Ward fired a salvo from her 4-inch main guns. The air launched 1005kg torpedo dipped into the water like a professional diver, and sped towards the Neuroi ship with a bubble trail behind it. A column of water rose from the ocean, as the Mark 13 warhead ripped the target apart, exposing the core.

"Standby for bombing run!" Ila shouted, switching to her 500lb bombs. "One away! Two away!" She said, as the first bomb missed and the second struck the conning tower, and the Neuroi shattered into silvery shards.

"Yes! Nice job Ila!" Samantha cried gleefully.

"No time for celebration. The Neuroi aren't stupid, they wouldn't just send one submarine into the largest naval base this side of the Pacific. That's suicide." Ila wondered.

"Surely, it's just an exercise… Yeah…" Samantha muttered, trying to regain her composure. But she couldn't shake the feeling that it was something more important, and she started checking her instruments again. "Aerial contacts reported over Wheeler Field in the north… It's probably just that B-17 flight inbound from the mainland, but... I need a visual." She said, climbing to higher altitude with a pair of binoculars. One look through the binoculars proved more than enough, as she grabbed Ila's hand and they raced to the main harbor.

No sooner had they gotten underway, when they heard a high-pitched screeching noise like nails on a chalkboard. A wave of dark grey and red aircraft roared through the sky, enough to blot the sun out. They weren't man made aircraft, but Neuroi fighters launched from a mothership. The strawberry blonde girl calculated their speed and direction, and gasped in horror when she saw that Pearl Harbor was in their path. The warships were neatly arranged in Battleship Row, and the Warhawks were in a perfect line at Hickam Field.

"Hickam Field! This is Captain Samantha Laddon, callsign Miss Pick Up! I've made visual contact with a large, unidentified aerial force approaching Hickam Field. Repeat, large unidentified aerial force approaching Hickam Field. Possible hostilities imminent, request you raise status to Alert 1."

No sooner had she called Hickam Field, when the first aerial torpedo dropped into the harbor, cruising towards the USS West Virginia. The engineers sat on their suspended platform on the battleship hull, and looked over the side just in time to see the torpedo. The warhead bit hard into the steel hull, before exploding violently and sending a column of water fifty fight into the air. Before long, more torpedoes fell into the water, striking the USS Oklahoma and the USS California in the port side.

Amidst the explosions and screaming, the klaxon siren began roaring as a voice called out, "AIR RAID! AIR RAID! ALL PERSONNEL TO BATTLE STATIONS! THIS IS NOT A DRILL! I REPEAT, THIS IS NOT A DRILL!"

Then came the high-level dive bombers, falling out of the sky like trapeze artists in a circus. They released their armor piercing bombs, which fell at such velocity you could hear them whistle through the air. One of them pierced the deck of the battleship Arizona, right near the no.2 gun turret, as it penetrated all the way to the shell magazine and detonated. The ship lurched, as the bow of the ship lifted into the air and fractured, sending flames spewing seventy feet into the air, like a solar flare in space.

Samantha was watching as she flew over to Hickam Field, and turned paler than the moon when the Arizona began belching flames. "Oh no… Alexis!" She cried, boosting to WEP and roaring towards Battleship Row.

When they arrived over Hickam Field, it was far worse than they could've imagined. Battleship Row was ablaze with thick, oily smoke, and the P-40 Warhawks had been strafed on the ground, as their aviation fuel was rapidly licked up by the flames. Samantha soon alighted on the hull of the Oklahoma, as it was burning end to end. The ship had been struck by multiple torpedoes, and was capsizing rapidly. As she tried to infiltrate the inferno, another bomb struck one of the fuel oil reservoirs, igniting it. Samantha watched in horror as sailors jumped for their lives, covered in oil and burning from head to toe as they careened into the water. She then identified one of the smaller figures as Alexis, and picked her up, although her oil stained coveralls and face were still ablaze. Alexis screamed and flailed in pain, as Samantha lowered her into the harbor water to extinguish the flames. When she emerged from the water, Alexis was scarred by 2nd and 3rd degree burns, and her face was almost unrecognizable. Samantha held her sister close, even as Tech Sgt. Yakone was still shooting at the incoming planes.

"Samantha…" Alexis said weakly, inhaling sharply from the pain.

"I'm here. Alexis… I'm so sorry, I should've listened to you…" Samantha admitted, tears rolling down her face.

"That doesn't… matter now." Alexis managed, coughing violently. "It's not over yet… you need to protect what's left. And promise to me… that our deaths will not… be in vain…"

"I solemnly swear…" Samantha managed, through her tears. "That your lives will not be lost in vain. I'm going to get you to a field hospital, you're going to survive this, Alexis." She said, starting her engines.

"No… no." Alexis said, coughing up blood. "I'm already done for… you need to protect the fuel… reserves… and the drydocks…" She was interrupted by another fit of coughing. "The fleet's going to need that oil… and a place to repair… Do me a favor: Shoot one down for me…"

Samantha watched in horror, as Alexis' burnt eyelids slowly shut, and the small chest ceased to rise, as she breathed her last. Alexis was smiling peacefully, somehow knowing that everything would be alright. Samantha wiped the tears from her face, and lowered her sister into the body filled waters. The body floated off with the other unfortunate sailors, like a mass burial at sea.

"Samantha?" Ila inquired, hovering over.

"She would want to rest with her shipmates." Samantha admitted.

"Samantha. There was nothing more you could do." She said in a soothing voice.

"I should've listened to her… I wish I hadn't been blinded by my arrogance, and overconfidence…" Samantha wept again.

"We need to go. Pearl is still under attack." Ila beckoned worriedly.

Samantha looked up, her eyes red from crying, and her eyes came to rest on a nearby Liberty ship that had been moored next to the Oklahoma for repair duties. Her Catalina units revved, as Samantha hovered over and picked up the 40mm Bofors AA gun from the starboard gun tub. The gun was ripped of its mount, and she grabbed several boxes of the flak shells, soaring up to combat altitude.

"Ila, try to draw their attention so they'll group up. These Bofor shells work well against group targets." Samantha radioed.

"How did I end up being the bait…" Ila laughed, shaking her head.

Soon the Neuroi had acquired Ila again, and began chasing her through the harbor. Ila wove through the falling masts of the USS Nevada, and over a group of destroyers that had managed to get under way. The 4 Farragut class destroyers Farragut, Monaghan, Aylwin, and Dale had been lucky, since they were relatively ignored by the Neuroi bombers, and now they were making for the harbor exit. They were joined by the Omaha class light cruiser, USS Detroit, as they prepared for anti-air combat. The 28mm "Chicago Piano" anti-aircraft mounts on the Detroit clacked loudly, accompanied in their warrior symphony by .50 caliber Brownings, 20mm Oerlikons, and 76mm flak guns. The 5-inch dual purpose guns aboard the destroyers also lobbed flak shells into the burning sky, as the second wave of Neuroi dove in to attack.

Suddenly, a hail of 40mm flak shells rained down from the sky, as Samantha loitered around the harbor with the Bofors gun. She was orbiting slowly in a left turn, which allowed her more stability, as she raked the Neuroi with armor piercing high-explosive shells. The tide was beginning to turn, and there was no point of the Neuroi pressing their attack, having dropped all their ordnance. The second wave bombers began retreating to the north, as their fighter escorts continued to strafe the AA positions, undeterred by the riflemen with their M1903 Springfields.

"You're not leaving just yet!" Samantha roared, firing from extreme range at the retreating bombers with her 40mm, accompanied by flak shots from USS Detroit. A few more planes were destroyed, but they were now outside of firing range, running back to whatever hole they came from. The fighter escorts had taken heavy losses from Samantha and the ground fire, and began to retreat as well. Ila flew up to meet Samantha, who was fuming almost as much as the Bofors gun. "They'll pay for this." She growled.

"All in due time, Samantha." Ila said comfortingly. "At least there wasn't a third wave, but it looks like Liberion won't be neutral much longer…"

Aftermath

In the coming days, Samantha found herself training even harder than before, pushing to become the best PBY pilot in the US Navy. It wasn't long before command took notice of her, landing her under the command of Jamie Doolittle for 1 ½ years in the pacific. After which, she was transferred to Great Britannia and assigned to the 8th JSF where she would remain for the duration of the daylight bombing campaign in Europe.

Ila Yakone returned to Attu in the Aleutian Islands, partaking in the defense of Dutch Harbor, Kiska Island, Adak Island, and her home base on Attu Island. When the assault on the Aleutians finally ended, she went on to fly support missions from Attu to northern Hokkaido, as well as search and rescue missions in the Bering Sea. On several occasions she spent time interacting with the Soviet Pacific Fleet, as exchanges of goodwill between them and the US Navy.

Alexis' body was never recovered from Battleship Row, and she rested at the bottom of the harbor with her fellow sailors, and the battleship Oklahoma. All attempts to rescue sailors from the Oklahoma were met with disastrous failure, and many engineers and metal workers had drowned in the lower decks while trying to cut an escape route. The world was shocked in the coming morning, as the enflamed dreadnoughts appeared on the front page of every US newspaper. The attack was labeled by President Franklin D. Roosevelt as "A Day Which Will Live in Infamy," during his national address on December 8th. With this speech, the United States of Liberion officially joined the war against the Neuroi, in both the pacific and European theaters. It has often been said that the United States was likened to a sleeping giant, who had been awakened and filled with a terrible resolve.


	2. Chapter 2: Doolittle's Raid

**Doolittle's Raid**

Eglin AFB, Florida, March 5, 1942

It was another warm sunny day at Eglin AFB, as Boeing Stearman trainer planes buzzed lazily through the sky. A young 19-year-old girl was looking out the window from inside her office, as the sun shone warmly on her face. Dressed in a brown jacket and skirt with a lilac undershirt and leggings, her wavy brown hair bounced lightly as the reverberation of a B-25 medium bomber shook the field. She adjusted her glasses, as her ocean blue eyes turned back to look at General Henry 'Hap' Arnold.

"Do you think they'll be ready, sir?" She asked worriedly.

Hap swiveled his office chair to face her. "At the present time I couldn't say, Lt. Col Doolittle. The B-25 normally required 3,000 feet to take off, but your pilots need to be airborne in 500 for this mission. Navy Lt. Henry Miller will do his best to teach them, but we're going to need a miracle to pull this off." He exhaled deeply. "You'd best get going. The planes are ready, and you need to brief our aviators."

"Will do, General." Jamie saluted, and exited the room.

In the hangar, several men and a few girls were arranged in a perfect echelon at the hangar entrance. Some were tall, some were short, and some had bigger ears than the pilot beside them. The ones who stood out were the two girls: 1st Lt. Dot Hallmark and 1st Lt. Rachel Cole. Hallmark was a bubbly, short girl from Texas who had short and curly brown hair, jade green eyes, and a plethora of mischievous freckles which seemed to dance across her cheeks.

By contrast, Cole hailed from Dayton Ohio, and sported medium length, luscious black hair, which danced in the wind. She had solemn grey-blue eyes, which scanned Doolittle cautiously. Despite knowing Jamie for a few years now, Rachel had never seen such a stern look on the Lt. Col's face, and that made her nervous.

Soon, Jamie broke the silence. "The mission you have volunteered for is extremely dangerous. Look at the pilot next to you – it's a good bet that over the next few weeks, you or them, will be dead. Everyone brave enough to accept this… Step forward."

Without even flinching, 1st Lt Hallmark and 1st Lt Cole stepped forward with the men. A determined smirk crept along Jamie's face, as the room's morale surged. Without another word, Jamie motioned for them to follow, as she walked out to the modified B-25 bomber on the tarmac, which had been practically re-engineered to reduce the weight.

"This is the plane you will be flying – a fine machine called the B-25 Mitchell. Twin engine, land-based bomber. It's been modified to reduce the weight as much as possible: all armor except for the blast plates near the dorsal gunner have been removed. The crawl space over the bomb bay has been filled in with a neoprene bladder for extra fuel. Normally, with a full load this plane requires 3,000 feet to take off. You will learn to do it in 500 feet, because after 500 feet you will be in the ocean, and you will be one dead pilot." Jamie declared coldly. "There is a white taped off section of the runway which measures 500ft: this is your goal. Let's get started!"

The training would continue for almost six weeks, and the results were not easily produced. Even with Lt. Miller's supervision and guidance, the pilots were still unfamiliar with the lumbering bomber, and had difficulty getting it off the ground at all, let alone 500ft. Jamie knew something had to be done, or they would have to scrub the mission. On the fourth week in to the training, Jamie personally attended a training session, and watched in disbelief as the planes continued missing the target by several hundred feet. Before the next crew could get their turn, Jamie interrupted the training session.

"Alright boys, I know you probably think this is impossible. You probably think we're asking for a miracle here, but I promise you this – it can be done. I will demonstrate, and if I go over the 500-foot mark, I'll buy every one of you a round of beer tonight." Jamie proclaimed.

Several eyebrows were raised, as Jamie climbed into the cockpit, and motioned for Dot and Rachel to follow her. As they went up the ladder, Dot tugged on Rachel's sleeve.

"Even the best pilots gathered for this mission couldn't make that takeoff. What chance do we have?" She asked worriedly.

"Don't doubt Doolittle. She was the test pilot who concocted this mission, and she never designs a mission she hasn't completed herself in some form. You should've seen her back at McCook field, flying the DC-3." Rachel smiled.

Dot's eyes grew wide as saucers, as she climbed up the ladder and into the bomber. Jamie strapped into the pilot seat, Rachel in the copilot seat, and Dot hopped into a makeshift jumpseat behind them. Doolittle set the parking brakes, set flaps full, and clamped her hand around the throttle lever.

"Tell me when, Rachel." Jamie commanded, pushing up the throttle.

Cole watched the RPM gauges climbing higher and higher, and Dot glanced anxiously as the engines strained with all their might.

"Not yet… Just a little more…!" Rachel held her hand up.

The RPM gauge approached the red zone, just as Rachel pointed forward.

"GO!"

Jamie released the brake, and the lumbering bomber lurched forward. Dot clutched the back of Doolittle and Cole's seats, as the plane gained speed at an exponential rate. The confident grins of the sidelined pilots turned into awe as the plane approached the 500-foot mark. Then, it happened. Doolittle and Rachel pulled back on the steering column with all their might, as Dot braced herself in the cockpit's metal frame. The B-25's nose lifted into the air, mere inches from crossing the mark, and the plane floated almost vertically into the sky. The small crowd exploded with excitement, as Jamie brought the bomber around and into the traffic pattern.

Rachel looked back at Dot, whose knuckles were white from gripping the metal frame. Then she looked at Jamie, whose forehead was covered in sweat as she breathed raggedly. Then she looked at her own knees, which were knocking like a Newton's cradle.

"Holy crap…" Rachel exhaled.

"Can't believe we got on the first try…" Jamie chuckled.

"Can we do that again?" Dot asked, starry-eyed.

Jamie laughed. "I'm sure we'll be much better off in our bomber units."

"So then, why fly an actual plane at all?" Dot inquired.

"Call it the Doolittle effect." Rachel lightly jabbed Jamie in the shoulder. "A show of inspiration, if you will. Why, Jamie used to be a racing pilot back in the day, and she helped develop the art of instrument flying as well. So, you could say she knows a thing or two." Rachel winked.

"Squadrons perform better when they can believe in their leader, and they probably don't want to be outdone by a girl pilot, either. It might actually be easier launching from the carrier, considering that we'll be moving into the wind plus the carrier's propulsion speed of 20-25 knots." Jamie noted, wiping the sweat from her forehead.

"No mission involving you is ever easy." Rachel laughed.

"I won't deny that." Jamie admitted, as she landed the bomber.

Even after Doolittle's flight of inspiration, the group would continue to train rigorously for the next several weeks. When the first week of April arrived, the Raiders flew their B-25's to Alameda Naval Air Station in the San Francisco Bay, to be loaded onto CV-8 Hornet. Despite the long flight, two of the B-25 captains were still game for a challenge, as they raced each other under the Golden Gate Bridge before heading to the airstrip. After landing, a mighty harbor crane lifted the B-25's, one by one, and set them down onto the deck of the Hornet. Each one was carefully arranged and tied down to the deck, as the engine covers were laid in place.

The temporary 'Task Force 16.2' was comprised of the Yorktown class carrier CV-8 Hornet, Brooklyn class cruiser Nashville and New Orleans class cruiser Vincennes, flanked by destroyers Gwin, Meredith, Grayson, and Monssen under the command of Captain Mark Mitchser. Just after exiting the bay, Navy blimp L-8 caught up with them to drop off the final supply shipment, including 2 cases of replacement navigator windows. The force would set sail into the Pacific, and link up with 'Task Force 16.1,' which consisted of the Yorktown class carrier CV-6 Enterprise – which was carrying fighter escorts, the Northampton class cruiser Northampton, the Pensacola class cruiser Salt Lake City, the Cimarron class oiler Sabine, and the destroyers Balch, Benham, Ellet, and Fanning. They would meet each other at sea on April 12th and form Task Force 16, and from there they would continue westward. Approximately 800 miles from the Fuso mainland, the warships would be refueled by USS Sabine, which would then turn back under destroyer escort and return to Pearl. From there, Task Force 16 would then turn south and continue another 400 miles towards their target.

Once they were in open water, Jamie took all the pilots below deck into the Hornet's hangar briefing room.

"For the benefit of those of you who don't already know, or who have been guessing, we are headed for the South Seas Island – a small artificial island created by the Neuroi, which was formed from part of their original meteor that crashed into the Pacific Ocean. This is the center of their heinous operations in the Pacific, and the origin from where they struck Pearl. The Imperial Fuso Naval Air Force had attempted to destroy it, but they were met with devastating losses to their air forces – they were lucky to even return to their carriers, let alone get home. At Pearl, the Neuroi hit us with a sledgehammer – and this attack will be but a pinprick to them. But it will prick them right in the heart and show them what happens when you mess with Liberion." Jamie was interrupted, as the Raiders erupted with cheers – their morale soaring to new heights. She waited a few seconds for them to subside.

"Unfortunately, while you may be able to take off from this carrier, you will not return to it." Jamie said coldly. "Once the last bomber leaves the deck, the Task Force is heading back to Pearl, and will not be here if you return. That is why, once the bombing run is complete, you will continue north to Fuso and regroup with friendly forces there. Whether land or crash land, you will transmit your distress beacon only on the encrypted USAAF frequency, so that the search and rescue team can find you. One final word of warning, anyone who still wants to bail out – this is your final call."

Jamie waited, but nobody faltered or ran for the door. She smiled proudly.

"You're all a fine band of pilots. I'm proud to be flying with you. Dismissed!"

On the trip to the South Seas Island, the crews meticulously ran maintenance checks on their aircraft, inspecting every nook and cranny to ensure their plane could make it to the target. The crews had been told that any plane which could not be repaired must be pushed overboard, but the cunning of the Raiders prevented such a thing. The few planes which did have mechanical faults were lifted up on tripod mountings above the carrier deck, as work continued on the bombers. They had to be extremely careful not to drop any bolts overboard, as they continued working on the bombers.

On the evening of April 17th, Rachel, Dot, and Jamie stood on the deck of USS Hornet, overlooking a starboard 5-inch gun turret.

"You know, you don't have go through with this. I know you girls have loved ones back home, and you're more than welcome to bail. I can bomb the target myself." Jamie admitted.

"We're not bailing on you." Rachel said. "Yes, I have family back in Dayton, but in this moment, you're the most important family I have – and I'm going to protect you."

"Likewise. Besides, who'd pass up a chance to drop the first bomb on the Neuroi home base?" Dot smirked.

"Girls… you're some of the best pilots I know. I'm proud to be flying with you. I just wish that I were as brave as you… The truth is, I'm scared." Jamie said, tears coming to her eyes. "'Hap' didn't believe in me – he didn't want me going on this mission. I had to forge his approval to the immediate superior just to be here right now. And even after all that bravado at Eglin, I'm still just as scared as ever…"

Rachel and Dot looked at each other, then moved in to hug Jamie tightly.

"You don't have to do this alone." Rachel answered warmly.

"Whatever happens, we'll be there for you." Dot snuggled.

The girls stayed on deck for what seemed like an eternity, before Jamie's tears subsided and they went below deck. The carrier bobbed up and down in the waves, as the engine turbines hummed loudly.

On the morning of April 18th, just 650 miles from the South Seas Island, the Raiders were still eating breakfast when the alarm sounded for general quarters.

"ENEMY SHIP DETECTED, ARMY PILOTS MAN YOUR PLANES!"

They wasted no time in running for the deck, as Jamie went up to the bridge.

"What happened?!" Jamie demanded.

"Neuroi picket ship. We're trying to sink it before they can report us, but you have to launch now." Mitscher said, as the USS Nashville and USS Salt Lake City opened fire with their 8-inch guns.

"How far out are we?" Jamie pressed.

"650 miles and closing. We're almost double the distance planned." Mitscher answered.

"Sir." The radio officer reported. "Admiral Halsey just sent us this message from the Enterprise: 'LAUNCH PLANES, TO COL DOOLITTLE AND GALLANT COMMAND, GOOD LUCK AND GOD BLESS YOU.'"

Jamie's heart sunk. "We can still throw out the defensive machine guns and save some extra weight, but that'll leave the bombers mostly defenseless…"

"It's now or never, Doolittle." Mitscher said anxiously.

Jamie hesitated for a brief second, and then straightened up and saluted Captain Mitscher. "Godspeed, Captain."

"Godspeed, Doolittle. Give 'em one for Pearl." Mitscher said, returning the salute.

The bomber units were mounted on deck in throwaway support docks, which held them upright until the unit was launched. Though Rachel and Dot were equipped with B-25B units, Jamie was equipped with an experimental XB-25G unit whose only main differences were a 75mm recoilless rifle as her primary armament, and Wright R-2600-13 engines vs the 2600-9's on the B model. The bomber units had also been loaded with 'banana crates' – containers of small incendiary phosphorous bombs used for setting fires, which would illuminate the target for the other planes. The only other distinctions were the callsigns painted on the units: Jamie's had 'Barbie III' written in bright yellow, Rachel's had 'Return to Sender' written in light red, and Dot's had 'Green Hornet' painted in dark green with a cartoon-style hornet buzzing underneath the text.

Doolittle raced down the stairway to the flight deck, where her bomber unit was ready next to Dot and Rachel's. Behind them were the thirteen other B-25B bombers, their crews checking everything for takeoff preparation. Dot was checking out the instruments in Captain York's B-25 when Jamie interrupted.

"Ditch the guns!" Jamie ordered, as USS Nashville landed a final 8-inch round on the enemy picket boat.

"What?" Captain York asked.

"We're 650 miles out, we were supposed to get within 400. Ditch all the guns except for the dorsal turret, and the .30 cal in the nose. Load extra fuel, too." Jamie demanded. "In the meantime, replace the .50's with broomsticks, and we'll see if we can fool the Neuroi fighters."

"Are you out of your mind?!" 2nd Lt. Davenport yelled from the right seat of B-25B 'Ruptured Duck.'

"Ditch the guns, otherwise you won't have enough fuel to make it to Fuso!" Jamie commanded.

Reluctantly, the B-25 crews tossed the Ma Deuces out onto the deck to the maintenance crew and replaced them with hastily painted black broomsticks. Extra fuel cans were handed up to the flight crews, and hastily stowed in the crawl space of the bombers. Once finished, the crews started up their engines, as Hornet turned into the wind. The deck pitched up and down in the waves, as the onboard reporter crew took a few final photos of the Raiders.

Dot, Rachel, and Jamie mounted their bomber units and started up the engines.

"Without guns, they'll be relying on us for cover." Rachel worried.

"I'm sure we can handle anything they throw at us." Dot remarked cheerily.

"Don't bother trying to dogfight, stick close to the bombers and use your shields to cover them. Don't go gallivanting off chasing fighters." Jamie ordered, as she advanced to takeoff position.

"Lt. Col. Jamie Doolittle, callsign 'Barbie III.' All wings check in." Jamie radioed.

"1st Lt. Cole, 'Return to Sender,' standing by."

"1st Lt. Hoover checking in."

"1st Lt. Gray, 'Whiskey Pete,' standing by."

"1st Lt. Holstrom checking in."

"1st Lt. Jones, ready and waiting."

"1st Lt. Hallmark, 'Green Hornet,' good to go!"

"1st Lt. Lawson, 'Ruptured Duck,' all fired up."

"Capt. York, standing by."

"1st Lt. Watson, 'Whirling Dervish,' standing by."

"1st. Lt. Joyce, standing by."

"Capt. Greening, 'Hari Kari-er,' ready to go."

"1st Lt. Bower, 'Fickle Finger of Fate,' we are ready."

"1st Lt. McElroy, 'The Avenger,' ready and steady."

"Maj. Hilger, standing by."

"1st Lt. Smith, 'TNT,' let's smash something!"

"1st Lt. Farrow, 'Bat Out Of Hell,' let's do this!"

"Roger. As soon as the plane in front of you clears the deck, get your takeoff roll going. Godspeed, everyone!" Jamie called out as she set full flaps on her bomber unit and pushed to maximum throttle.

Her XB-25G bomber unit surged forward, straining at wartime emergency power as she slowly floated into the air. A breath of relief left Jamie's lungs, as it was replaced with cool sea air. The deck crew cheered, as Rachel took off next, followed by Dot, and the remaining B-25B's. Morale surged, as Captain York's B-25 raced down the deck and disappeared momentarily below the bow, before climbing upward into the Pacific air. As the last B-25 left the deck, Captain Mitscher saluted them from the bridge, as the Task Force hooked around and headed back for Hawaii. The flat tops slowly faded from view, and then disappeared over the horizon. The Raiders were committed, en route, and all alone now.

Dusk was falling, just as the Raiders made landfall – a small, black and red mass appeared in the ocean, not much larger than Manhattan Island. The picket ship that detected the force had been sunk, and it appeared no alert had been raised – the Raiders' arrival was unexpected.

"No fighter patrols, no welcoming flak clouds… We've achieved the element of surprise." Rachel said wondrously.

"Well then, I guess it's payback time!" Dot rubbed her hands together.

"Easy there Hallmark, remember what we're here for. We're just the 'lamplighters.'" Jamie admonished.

"That may be," Dot replied. "But we're blazing a trail towards the end of this dreadful conflict, I can feel it in my bones." She shivered with excitement.

"You've got heart, kid. I like that." Jamie smiled.

The witches were in front of the formation, just as they passed the alien beaches of South Seas Island. It was an eerie sight, as ocean waves lapped against the hostile black and red metallic structure. For something made by an extra-terrestrial species, it was bizarrely well detailed, imitating man-made factory complexes, dry docks for large type and super-large type Neuroi, an airfield, and several storage complexes. This architectural style was interrupted by the massive red octagonal crystal in the center, which seemed to function as a power plant core for the whole island.

"Damn. If we ever come back here, we're going to need a bigger bomb." Rachel scowled.

"Remember, focus fire on the factories and anything that looks flammable." Jamie ordered, opening the bomb bay doors on her unit.

Jamie activated her magic bombsight, which displayed two sets of crosshairs in front of her: One for where she was looking, and another that calculated the optimum drop point. She waited for the crosshairs to line up on the drydocks, before calling, "Bombs away!"

Dot dropped her phosphorous bombs on a production facility, calling out "Pickle! Pickle!" over the radio.

Rachel dropped off her payload on a storage complex, setting multiple fires as the other B-25's rumbled in behind her, calling "Look out below!" on the radio.

The twin engine Mitchell's opened their bomb bays, bombsights trained on the blazing fires down below. The traditional Norden bombsight on the B-25 was replaced with a lightweight and simpler low-level sight for the raid, which allowed the bombardiers to find their targets. Each plane dropped about eight 250lb incendiary bombs and started closing their doors just as ground fire began responding. The rippling explosions on the ground were soon replaced with muzzle flashes from AA guns, as the Neuroi's fierce retaliation came up to meet them.

"All wings, mission complete, get out of here. Green Hornet and Return to Sender, please assist me in strafing the fighters before they can get airborne." Jamie said.

The girls agreed, as they dove out of the sky, guns blazing. A squadron of Neuroi fighters was attempting to take off, just as Jamie fired a 75mm explosive round, leaving a burning wreck on the airstrip. Dot and Rachel swooped in with their .50 caliber machine guns, chewing up other fighters that were still parked by the hangar, leaving them in smoldering, twisted ruins. After completing the run, the witches moved to shield the fleeing bombers from flak, deploying their magic shields as they outranged the AA guns. They were home free. Almost.

A few hundred miles northwest of the South Seas Island, it was discovered that Captain York's plane had taken extensive damage, and they probably wouldn't last much longer in the air.

"There's no way we'll make it to Fuso, we're leaking too much oil. We have to land now." York urged.

"There is nothing else close by. Stick close to the group." Jamie warned.

"I can't keep this bird in the air any longer. It's been an honor to know you Lt. Col., but we have to bail out now." York answered.

"Very well. We'll try to contact the Fuso navy and have them rescue you." Jamie retorted, but there was no response. York's plane trailed oil through the sky as each crew member bailed out in sequence, and the plane lazily drifted into the water as the parachutes floated in the air. Jamie ran her hands through her hair stressfully. "All wings, report battle damage."

The comm channel soon filled up with reports of gunfire wounds, damaged control surfaces, and fuel leaks. The further the group moved to Fuso, the further away it seemed as the planes drifted into the sea one by one. Jamie watched worriedly as 1st Lt Smith on B-25 "TNT" managed to put his plane down in the water, although they couldn't confirm how many survivors made it out of the plane. Moments later, 1st Lt Lawson aboard "The Ruptured Duck" reported that he had run out of fuel, as the neoprene fuel bladder had been perforated by gunfire. Slowly but surely, the propellers stopped, as 'Ruptured Duck' floated down into the sea – there was a confirmed lifeboat in the water, but no certain idea of how many bailed out of the plane. By the time the mainland came in sight, there were only ten planes left of the original thirteen, and the three witches.

It was getting dark just as the lights of Yokohama City came into view, and most of the remaining B-25's had used up the last of their fuel reserves, as the engines began dying. One by one, the planes began drifting down into Yamashita park, crash landing as their noses plowed into the soft mud. Even the witches could tell that they were not flying any further, as almost all their energy had been spent, and the magic engines began to wind down.

"We have to set it down, girls. I don't know how close we are to the rendezvous point but we simply can't fly any further safely." Jamie said reluctantly. "Find a clearing and land, regroup with the other pilots and contact search and rescue on the designated frequency."

"Wilco." Rachel responded.

"Understood Lt. Col." Dot chimed in.

The girls lazily drifted down into Yamashita park and managed to set their bomber units down just as the magic engine gave out. Needless to say, they were exhausted even though the mission wasn't quite over yet. Only five of the remaining planes had landed in Yamashita park, the rest had enough fuel to land at Haneda Airport in Tokyo. Rachel got onto the radio and dialed in the frequency, while Dot and Jamie left their bomber units and ran over to the B-25 'Whiskey Pete' to check for survivors. Dot pulled out a small flashlight, as they peered through the cockpit windows. There was blood all over the front window, the remains of an unfortunate Cpl Leland Faktor – the flight engineer. 1st Lt. Gray was still in his seat, slumped over the remains of his fallen comrade, whimpering as tears filled his eyes. Jamie managed to get his attention, casting a worried look as she pulled the window slide back.

"1st Lt. Gray, good to see you're still alive." Jamie sighed.

"He was only 20 years old, still had his whole life ahead of him… God damn it!" Gray sobbed, slamming his fist against the flight yoke.

"Get it together soldier, we've got to find the others." Jamie urged, trying to get him out of the plane.

Dot and Jamie managed to haul the rest of the crew out of the plane, just as three Type 94 trucks drove into the area, escorted by two Type 1 Ho-Ha personnel carriers, and a Kurogane Type 95 car. A Fuso army general stepped out of the passenger side, greeting them as several of his soldiers helped get the crews into the truck beds.

"I am General Prince Naruhiko Higashikuni of the Imperial Fuso Army. On behalf of humans everywhere, we thank you Doolittle Raiders." He bowed politely.

"But… we didn't really do that much." Rachel frowned.

"Quite the contrary. You have done something that until now, no amount of military might have been able to achieve. You have shown the Neuroi that they are vulnerable, and that they can be struck from anywhere in the world, at any time. I only wish we could have done more to help – our nation has been in much suffering since the Fuso Sea Incident, and we have been short on skilled pilots and aircraft. But with pilots like you in the air, I believe it is still possible to win back this world." Naruhiko smiled.

The girls returned a salute to him, as they joined their fellow air crews in the army truck beds. They were shuttled out to Haneda Airport where the other Raiders were waiting for them, along with a C-47 Skytrain bound for home. The B-25's which were lost at sea were recovered by Fuso fishing boats, but many of the crews did not survive the water landing. The injured survivors would be returned to Liberion after receiving medical treatment and join the other Raiders in a presidential ceremony where they were all awarded with the Distinguished Flying Cross award. Those who were wounded for the raid and returned to Liberion were awarded with the Purple Heart award. Doolittle specifically was awarded the Medal of Honor by President Roosevelt himself, a feat which made her glow as she stood before the cheering Liberion public.

When asked later about the medal, Jamie simply said, "It's a beautiful and highly coveted award, but the greatest reward for me is to see the Liberion spirit regained, after the misery that was Pearl Harbor. Personally, I have been luckier than the law of averages should allow. I could never be so lucky again."

Jamie Doolittle would go on to lead the 8th Joint Strike Force out of High Wycombe, Britannia, with some of the best bomber witches from around the world. They would be the ones to liberate Karlsland via the destruction of the Berlin hive.

Rachel Cole chose a different role in life, becoming an Air Transport Command pilot in the Chinese-Burma-India campaign and flying cargo over the Himalayas, or 'The Hump.' She became instrumental in the South East Asian theater of operations with her accurate supply drops to allied troops.

Dot Hallmark was given an offer to join the 11th Joint Strike Force in Australis, under the command of Wing Commander Christine Davenport, which she gratefully accepted. She and her group would go on to make heroic achievements within the Royal Australis Air Force (RAAF), accounting for considerable roles in the assault on Neuroi occupied Rabaul, the Battle of the Coral Sea, the liberation of the Philippines, and the Borneo Campaign.


	3. Chapter 3: The Ragged Irregulars, 91BG

**The Ragged Irregulars**

"...Yet she's not mine. She doesn't belong to anybody. A lot of people, a lot of groups would like to claim her, but she's not for sale. She's America's warplane, and that's how it ought to be."

-Col Robert Knight Morgan, excerpt from _The Man Who Flew The Memphis Belle_

The year is 1943. The European continent is still firmly under control of the Neuroi menace, which causes major obstacles for the planned Allied invasion of northern Gallia. Merchant shipping from the United States of Liberion has been under increasing attack unrestricted submarine warfare originating in the captured submarine pen at Wilhelmshaven, Karlsland. The Allied command has made its decision – the concrete bunkers and naval yards at Wilhelmshaven must be destroyed to relieve the pressure on Atlantic convoys. It is now up to the 91st Bomb Group stationed in RAF Bassingbourn in Cambridgeshire, Brittania to stop the Neuroi's attacks.

Though frequently assigned to the easier 'milk runs' over Gallia, the progression of the war found the 91st deployed in extremely hostile airspace above Karlsland to break the industrial capacity of the Neuroi, by bombing factories, airfields, railways, drydocks, and generally anything that could be used to the enemy's advantage. The tenacity of the 91st BG and their special Bomber Witches unit earned them the nickname, 'The Ragged Irregulars.' The most common motivation for USAAF personnel was a clause in the drafting program, which stated that any airman who could complete 25 successful bombing missions over Europe was free to return home, no questions asked if they desired. In practice, this was easier said than done, as most bomber crews didn't make it more than a few weeks into their tour of duty. For this reason, Cpt. Roberta and 1st Lt. Esther Morgan 'Windy City' were looked up to as a pillar of morale for the 91st – as of the first of May, they had recently completed their 23rd and 22nd missions, respectively in a mission over St. Nazaire. If they could just make it to 25, they could go home. But the worst was yet to come…

In the skies above Wilhelmshaven, Karlsland, May 15th, 1943…

It was a gloomy, overcast day over Wilhelmshaven, Karlsland. Rain descended upon the coastal town in light sheets, as thunder rumbled in the distance. The rumbling increased, though not coming from Mother Nature. The sound of cannons drowned out the storm, as a multitude of heavy flak guns lobbed their shrapnel through the cloud layer. About seven and a half kilometers above Wilhelmshaven, a swarm of B-17 Flying Fortress heavy bombers wallowed through the blackened puffs of shrapnel fire. At the front of the beleaguered air fleet were two young bomber witches – one wearing a red tube dress, and the other in a blue summer dress with a white sunhat. They were Captain Roberta Kristine Morgan, the 'Memphis Belle,' and 1st Lt. Esther Cecilia Morgan, "Windy City."

Roberta shielded her eyes a little, as a flak round burst just in front of her, sending black soot and shrapnel everywhere. "Watch that flak, boys." She warned.

"S-sis, do you really think we can fly through this?" Esther stammered.

"We have to. If not us, then who? Who will carry out the mission and bring us closer to the war's end?" Roberta said, almost reprimanding her sister.

"Even so, this is much scarier than St. Nazaire…" Esther said gloomily.

"We're heading into the heart of Karlsland, it's to be expected on the enemy's home turf." Roberta asserted.

The other witches in the formation consisted of: Squadron Commander Maj. Haley Aycock of B-24J Liberator unit 'Le Petite Fleur,' Deputy Squadron Commander Capt. Wilma Whitson of B-17F Flying Fortress unit 'Old Bill,' Pilot Jackie A. Hargis of B-17F unit 'Dame Satan,' Pilot Geneva Lockhart of B-17F unit 'Hitler's Gremlin,' Pilot Edwina Roemke of B-17F unit 'Hel-No Gal,' Pilot Clara Gill of B-17F unit 'Royal Flush,' Pilot Lowella Wetzel of B-17F unit 'In Der Fuhrer's Face,' and Pilot Nora Koll of B-17F unit 'Desperate Journey.'

The witches pulled up in front of the bomber formation, as their P-47 Thunderbolt escorts dropped their external fuel tanks and began peeling back towards Britannia for the return trip.

"Alright girls, listen up." Haley commanded. "The 'Jug's' are heading home, which means we are now responsible to get as many heavies as possible to the target area. The Green Force's 300 B-17's and six squadrons of P-47 Thunderbolts will distract the enemy fighters stationed in northern Belgica, as they make their way inland towards Hanover. The Yellow Force's B-26's and Spitfires will attack a major railway junction in northern Belgica to also draw attention away from us and take some pressure off the Green Force. The Blue Force's 100 B-24's are making their way ahead of us up the Karlsland coastline as a decoy – they carry no bombs and will draw the enemy fighters away from us while we turn southward. Our force, the White Force, has 300 B-17's in it heading for the hardened submarine bunkers in Wilhelmshaven, to crush the Neuroi's ability to attack our Atlantic convoys. We're on their radar, so they will be tracking our every movement for the AA gunners on the ground. Be vigilant, stay focused, and save as many planes as you can. Got it?"

"Yes ma'am!" The girls shouted in unison.

"Man, I can't wait for this war to be over." Edwina groaned. "I wanna settle down, find me a handsome man, maybe marry him and live in one of those beautiful town homes on the west coast."

"There she goes again." Lowella laughed.

"I can dream, Lowella!" Edwina shot back.

"I think we all want to find some peace and relaxation after this is all over." Geneva smiled. "But first we must make sure there's something to come back to."

"Yeah, I hear you there." Clara chimed in. "Hopefully we don't lose many today, I made a bet with one of the lads back in Bassingbourne."

"Gambling again…? Honestly." Jackie sighed. "How much did you bet this time?"

"Nothing much, just $50 and a round of beers at the tavern." Clara looked away.

"Clara!" Jackie fumed. "Is life that meaningless to you?"

"Should I have bet more? I'm pretty confident we can come back with 250 or more." Clara mumbled.

"You should aim not to lose any at all." Capt. Wilma thundered.

"Ah… sorry Cap'n." Clara bashfully scratched her head. "Though the idea of coming back with 100% of our force is too far-fetched… Even you know that."

"Clara!" Jackie fumed disapprovingly.

"Far-fetched as it might be," Wilma admitted. "You mustn't aim for 85 or 90%, but for 100%. We need every plane we can get if we're to win this war."

"Well said, Wilma." Haley concurred. "Now cut the chatter and keep your heads up – we're approaching the next enemy field of fire." She noted, as Wilma logged their progress on the navigation map.

"Some welcome wagon…" Nora scoffed, pointing to the wall of black clouds ahead.

"Tch… Eager beavers, I'll give 'em that." Clara grumbled.

"Major, shall we begin evasive maneuvers?" Roberta asked.

"Yeah. All aircraft resume anti-flak maneuvers and remember your training – don't maintain the same altitude or heading for more than 30 seconds, keep them guessing. Stay with us and you'll be fine." Haley radioed to the B-17 flight leader.

"Roger, we're counting on you." He radioed back from the cockpit.

"Remember, if you take damage in battle, I can try to patch you up." Geneva offered.

"Hopefully it won't come to that, but Clara appreciates the offer." Jackie laughed.

"Hey! Whazzat supposed to mean?!" Clara barked.

As the heavy group moved through the flak with the witches, they flew along for about twenty minutes of continuous flak barrage, losing two planes to direct fire and a third to engine failure. Suddenly, the flak ended, and the group emerged into the broken cloud layer just ten miles outside Wilhelmshaven.

"Flak stopped. You know what that means." Clara muttered, scanning the clouds warily.

"All aircraft, keep an eye out for enemy fighters." Wilma advised, marking their position on the map.

"This is 'Desperate Journey,' going to prime the gun now and test fire, stand by." Nora said, cocking her M2 Browning and firing a small burst into open air. The red tracer rounds disappeared into the thick clouds, as the other witches also commenced a quick test fire to clear their guns.

Heads turned warily, as they all watched for any sign of the enemy. Roberta kept tapping her earpiece, as if experiencing radio static, and Esther came over to look.

"What's wrong, sis?" Esther asked worriedly.

"Nothing, I just… I keep hearing this weird noise. I don't think it's coming from my earpiece." Roberta wondered.

Esther looked above them, and for a momentary break in the clouds saw a formation of Neuroi fighters a mile above them approaching from the front. The sounds grew louder as engines roared, and the unmistakable screech of a Neuroi fighter pierced through the clouds.

"Shit! Twelve o'clock high!" Roberta looked up, as fifteen fighters dove through the ethereal cloud layer, guns blazing.

The girls responded with their own gunfire, and the chattering of Browning M2 .50 caliber machine guns filled the air around them. A few of the initial fighters got past the witches, making high speed passes and weaving in between the B-17 formation behind them. The turrets began rotating, and panicked chatter filled the radio frequency as the heavies called out positions and opened fire on the alien menace.

"Watch those fighters, protect the heavies!" Haley ordered.

Roberta, Esther, Nora and Wilma pulled back into the B-17 formation, bolstering the center defense as Neuroi fighters zoomed around between the lumbering bombers.

"Don't hit any friendlies. Open fire!" Wilma ordered.

"Desperate Journey, fighter at 9 o'clock low." Nora informed.

"I'm on him, eat this!" Roberta fired a burst at the incoming aggressor, piercing its fuel tank and causing it to spiral out of control and back down to earth. "Chalk up another one. Next?"

"Windy City, six o'clock high, need help to cover." Esther worried, firing careful bursts.

"Adjusting position." Nora responded, turning on her back and firing upward at the invader. She was rewarded with a brief explosion, as the Neuroi core was struck and it shattered into pieces.

"Old Bill, got one at two o'clock heading for the flight lead." Wilma reported, being careful not to fire at the friendly B-17 in the way. The enemy fighter passed just underneath her as she tried to track it, and she managed to take its wing off before it could get away.

"How many more?" Roberta demanded.

"Le Petite Fleur," Haley interrupted. "Another wave incoming, fifteen heavy fighters with large caliber cannons and rockets. Everyone get back up to the front."

Roberta, Esther, Nora, and Wilma raced back up through the formation to the other witches, and they all deployed their shields as a volley of rocket fire blazed through the clouds and shattered against their combined defense. Then came the fighters themselves, smashing against the shield barrier with their heavy cannons.

"Jackie, Clara, get around to the outer flank and get them to scatter!" Haley ordered.

"Roger!" The two responded.

Jackie went left around the shield barrier while Clara went right, and they fired an interception volley at the incoming squadron. The enemy lost three heavy fighters, before flying around the shield to attack the B-17 group.

"All witches, fire!" Haley called out, as the enemy got caught in a crossfire and lost five more.

"Memphis Belle, where are you?" Wilma demanded. "Memphis Belle?"

"I found another heavy fighter deep in the formation, he's really ripping them apart." Roberta answered.

"Who told you to break formation?!" Wilma thundered.

"Well what am I supposed to do, let them die?!" Roberta shot back. "This guy is really fast; the gunners can't track him. But maybe I can…" Her sentence was cut short by a burst of machine gun fire, as the Neuroi crossed her line of sight again.

"You idiot. You'll catch hell for this…" Wilma gritted her teeth.

"I'm used to it. Either someone can help me or we're going to lose a lot more here." Roberta retorted.

"I'm coming, sis…!" Esther fell back to join her sister.

"Windy City…! Damn those two!" Haley grumbled. "Always running off."

"It's what makes them unique, in a way. Imagine if Roberta had her own unit…" Jackie chuckled.

"Hah. She wouldn't last a day." Haley laughed, pulling back the bolt on her M2 to remove a jammed bullet.

Meanwhile, Roberta and Esther gave chase to a rather troublesome Neuroi, which had a large caliber gun but was traveling much faster than anything they'd seen before.

"This guy is good." Roberta huffed, firewalling her B-17 unit as she tried to catch the enemy in a dive.

"It's too fast, something's not right." Esther worried, helping her sister to catch the enemy in a pincer maneuver.

Suddenly the quick fighter dove in between two B-17's wingspans, causing Roberta to pull out of the dive and climb again.

"It's smart, too. But if we can just land one hit…" Roberta muttered, giving chase once more.

"Don't go out too far, lure him back in." Esther advised, as the enemy pulled a vertical turn and fired several cannon rounds at the formation rear guard.

There was panicked screaming over the radio, as a B-17 in the rear guard was hit, and began trailing smoke as it careened into two more bombers below it and tore their wings off.

"Shit!" Roberta growled.

"Oh god, no…!" Esther gasped.

"Dammit. Well, if that's the case…" Roberta said, as her hands and hair began to glow. "You leave me no choice – I'm done playing around!"

"I'll help too…!" Esther nervously chimed in, as the wind whirled around her.

As the enemy fighter came in for another pass, Esther positioned herself in its flight path, stretching her hand out.

"Downdraft!" Esther yelled, as a sudden gust of wind acted upon the fighter causing it to lose altitude rapidly. As it began to climb back up towards her for a shot, Roberta dove in at high speed to intercept.

"Firestorm!" Roberta shouted, as flames shot forth from her hands and scorched the enemy with impunity. A volley of bullets from the nearby B-17's shot off the charred skin of the Neuroi, revealing its luminescent red core.

"Now!" Roberta commanded, as she and Esther both fired simultaneously and sliced the core into pieces, shattering the Neuroi.

Glittery shards fell back towards the earth, as the duo panted for breath.

"N-next…" Roberta groaned, having spent a lot of her developing mana reserve to use the ability.

"Well?" Wilma's voice came over the radio.

"Well what?" Roberta panted.

"Did you get it, hot shot?" Wilma asked.

"Yeah, we got him…" Roberta smiled.

"…Then get back up here. We're starting the bombing run." Wilma replied.

"…Roger." Roberta responded. "C'mon Esther, good job."

"You weren't so bad yourself, 'Berta." Esther smiled.

"Hey, don't say that around other people." Roberta blushed.

Esther simply giggled to herself, as they joined the forward sector again.

"What are our losses?" Haley asked.

"Well, we still have 278 operational aircraft, fifteen of which took light damage but can still fly. We lost twenty-two so far to enemy fire and subsequent mid-air collisions." Wilma reported.

Haley sighed. "I can make do with that. All aircraft form up for bomb attack, five minutes until the drop point. Open bomb bay doors."

The mighty B-17's behind them swung their bomb bay doors open, revealing six 1000lb bombs per plane. The Witches also opened their bomb bays which carried identical payloads and they activated their magic variant of the Norden bombsight.

"This is where we're most vulnerable. Can't maneuver if we want to hit the target accurately…" Lowella muttered, her face turning pale as the flak resumed.

"This is a long five minutes of my life…" Clara grumbled, staring through her Norden at the ground below. "Where is that damned submarine bunker?"

"We should be arriving on target soon," Wilma noted, checking her map. "Keep your eyes on the target."

"Wilma is taking point as the bombardier – when she drops, you drop." Haley ordered.

"Got it…" Clara drew her words out doubtfully.

The flak came closer and closer, and planes began to succumb to the deadly shrapnel as the fire intensified. One of the lead B-17's caught fire and dove out of the formation to try and extinguish it, another got hit amidships and began tumbling about as their tail flew off. In a stroke of horribly bad luck, the flight lead's B-17 was hit directly in the bomb bay, and the entire plane was engulfed in flames as it dipped uncontrollably out of formation and exploded moments later.

"Damn… I'm gonna hurl…" Nora groaned.

"Stay on target…" Wilma said in frustration.

"They're getting closer-" Edwina noted the flak.

"Stay on target…" Wilma urged.

Just as she caught a glimpse of the submarine bunker, Wilma saw a shell coming directly at her. She activated her shield instinctively, but a bit of the shrapnel got through and hit her in the nose.

"Ack…!" Wilma screamed pitifully, trying to suppress the blood running down her face.

"Wilma!" Haley shouted. "Geneva, get over here and help her stop the bleeding. Someone else take over lead bombardier!" Haley demanded, as Geneva came over with healing magic.

"I'll do it." Roberta volunteered.

"No way, the next one in rank is… well, actually you." Clara realized to her dismay.

"Please, Major I can do this." Roberta urged.

"No time for debating. Get up here." Haley ordered reluctantly. "Find the target in your crosshairs. Hone your energy and feel where it is." Haley instructed, as Roberta activated her Norden and pushed aside the safety on her bomb release controls.

"Submarine pen… c'mon… Surely we've passed it?" Roberta said in frustration.

"Focus! This is what you're made to do." Haley boomed amidst the flak.

"Please… just drop this thing so we can all go home…" Clara muttered, her bravado faltering.

Suddenly, Roberta caught a short break in the clouds, and the concrete bunkers of the Wilhelmshaven submarine pen lazily passed into her crosshair.

"…That's it." Roberta realized, taking another look to confirm. "That's it! BOMBS AWAY!" Roberta shouted as she clamped down on the red button with all her might.

The whistling sound of bombs falling through the air echoed throughout Karlsland that day, as thousands of thousand-pound bombs rained from the heavens onto the enemy naval facility. Roberta and the other witches felt themselves getting much lighter as all bombs were released, and the B-17's behind them followed suit.

Roberta sighed with relief and looked down through her Norden as explosions ripped across the entire port, tearing through the concrete bunkers and trapping hundreds of submarines inside.

"One step closer…" Roberta laughed weakly.

"Confirmed, all bombs away." Haley tapped her radio. "All units, close bomb bay doors and follow us. We're heading back."

"Just another day at the office…" Jackie laughed weakly.

Indeed, it was just another day in the life of the Bomber Witches. The 91st BG would sortie again and again, bombing targets in Gallia, Belgica, and Karlsland until the destruction of the Neuroi hive in Berlin. Roberta got grounded from the raid following Wilhelmshaven to replenish mana and repair battle damage to her unit, while Esther flew her 24th mission. But they would fly again to Lorient, Gallia on the 17th, and both would complete their 25th missions effectively ending their obliged tour of service. However, instead of returning home, they were both offered positions in the newly created 8th Joint Strike Force under the command of Jamie Doolittle, which would continue to be an effective witch unit throughout the Second World War and demonstrate the effectiveness of the daylight bombing campaign. Their motto was, 'The Bomber Witches Will Always Get Through!'


End file.
